Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

N ATHAN LOOKED AROUND the crowded ballroom. Lady Arden's yearly ball was a must for anyone with any pretensions to the ton . Frankly, he couldn't understand why; he had always found the affair deadly dull. But its size was precisely why he'd chosen it for his first foray back into London Society, hoping that among such a large group of people, his own presence would be hardly noticed.

He'd known that there was bound to be gossip about him and Annabeth. Even though their engagement had been known only to the families, everyone was aware that Nathan had been head over heels about Annabeth for years. Her wedding to Sloane Rutherford and Nathan's subsequent departure to the Continent had doubtlessly set tongues clacking.

Nathan had spent six months touring Europe, most of it visiting a friend who had moved to Italy. When he had returned three months ago, he had avoided London, going straight to Dunbridge Manor, his home in the country. Unfortunately, his mother and aunt had left Bath and moved into the manor during his absence, and fond as he was of them—even Aunt Jocelyn—there was really only so much cosseting, sweetness, and concern a man could bear. He loved his mother dearly, but they fared better if he didn't actually have to live with her.

So a few weeks ago, he had returned to his flat in London, with its blessed silence and a complete lack of maternal worry. He had stayed away from parties, however, going only to his club or joining friends at horse races, or contests of pugilism, or nights of drinking.

Those activities had grown boring, as well. He hadn't felt any need to drown his sorrows in months—absence, he'd found, didn't make the heart grow fonder; it eased the pain—and he didn't enjoy waking up the next morning with a pounding head. Moreover, it seemed as if nearly all his closest friends, like Carlisle, were now married or engaged or pursuing a lady. Life had become rather lifeless, somehow, so he had decided to return to the ton .

His hope that he could escape gossip at a large ball was clearly unfounded. As soon as he stepped into the ballroom, seemingly every eye in the place turned in his direction. There was nothing to do now but face the whispers and sly glances.

As he started forward, Lady Arden swept up to him, smiling. "Mr. Dunbridge! I was hoping you would attend my little party. It's been ages since I have seen you." Her last statement rose questioningly.

"Yes, I have been out of the country for some months now," Nathan replied with a polite bow.

The small woman looked up at him with sympathy. "I am so sorry. I fear Miss Winfield will regret her decision."

" Mrs. Rutherford is quite happy," he replied, putting an emphasis on Annabeth's new name. "And I am very happy for both of them. As you probably know, we all grew up together." No need to mention that being near Sloane while he was still engaged to Annabeth hadn't meant warming up to him.

"Well, I have just the thing to brighten your day." Lady Arden ignored Nathan's statement. "You must allow me to introduce you to Mrs. Billingham. Such a charming woman." Her eyes lit up with a matchmaking zeal that Nathan was all too familiar with. From the moment he left university, half the matrons in the ton had been trying to find him a wife.

He knew it was useless to attempt to escape a matchmaker, so he let her lead him across the floor toward a knot of people. The group, mostly men, were clustered around a woman with dark red hair. She was dressed in a black ball gown with a wide neckline that showed off her lovely white shoulders, and though her back was turned toward him, Nathan suspected that she was equally attractive from the front, given the looks on the men's faces.

"Mrs. Billingham." Lady Arden determinedly moved into the group, forcing a few of the men to step aside. "Please allow me to introduce you to—"

The woman turned, and Nathan saw her face. It was a fox-shaped face dominated by expressive golden-brown eyes. A familiar face, more intriguing than beautiful, and one he had expected never to see again. What the devil was Verity Cole doing here?

He stopped abruptly, jaw dropping. "Good Gad. Veri—" Nathan broke off and cleared his throat. "That is, um, very pleased to, um—"

"Oh," Lady Arden said in disappointment. "You already know each other."

"Yes. I, well," Nathan floundered. He could hardly deny recognizing Verity, given his reaction, but what was he to say? God only knew what sort of masquerade she was carrying on now. "Mrs.—ah—" What had Lady Arden said Verity's "name" was at the present moment?

Fortunately, Verity spoke up to save him. "Mr. Dunbridge and I are acquainted. Not well, of course—it was my dear Hubert who was his friend. They went to school together." Her eyes twinkled.

Naturally Verity would find it amusing to cast him unknowingly into her sea of lies.

Well, I can play at that game, too. "Yes, indeed. Splendid chap, Hubert. Where is he? I must chat with him." Nathan made a show of surveying the room.

Verity made a choked noise and whipped out a handkerchief, raising it to cover her mouth. To Nathan's amazement, tears welled in her eyes. "Oh, my poor Hubert."

The other men scowled at him, and Lady Arden told him quietly, "Mr. Billingham passed on a year ago."

"Oh. Beg your pardon, ma'am." It was a struggle to keep his face sober as Nathan met Verity's gaze above her handkerchief. He wondered if anyone else noticed the mischief in her gaze.

She dabbed artistically at the corners of her eyes. "Of course. How could you have known? Dear Hubert and I have been living in Russia for some years now."

"Russia?" Where did she come up with these things?

"Yes. You know how it was with poor Hubert."

"Mmm," Nathan said gravely. "Indeed." Clearly, my school chum had been obsessed with tragic literature, ballet, or, perhaps, snow. At least the party was not as dull as it usually was.

"I knew you would understand."

Nathan still wasn't certain what relation Hubert was supposed to be to her. Husband seemed likely, given the show of tears, but then one would cry over the death of a brother, too, wouldn't one? Although Verity apparently could cry over anything...or nothing at all.

He sketched a little bow to her. "Do say you will take a turn around the room with me, Mrs. Billingham, and tell me what misfortune claimed poor Hubert."

"Yes, that will be a great comfort to me," Verity replied, taking the arm he offered. "Gentlemen. If you will excuse us."

Nathan nodded to the others and started away, bending his head a little toward Verity in what he hoped looked like sympathy. "What the devil are you doing here? Pretending to be...whatever it is you're pretending to be."

"A widow," Verity supplied. "A wealthy widow, which is why you saw all the men hovering about like bees."

"I daresay that's not the only reason." He cast his gaze down at the neckline of her dress, which skimmed across the top of her full breasts. "That's scarcely what I'd call mourning."

She hid her laugh behind her widespread fan. "That's because poor dear Hubert died over a year ago."

"And your hair is red." What a perfectly ridiculous thing to say. As if that had anything to do with anything , Nathan admonished himself. It was just that she looked so different with her hair that rich dark auburn instead of the dull brown that he'd seen before.

"Yes, it is." Her voice brimmed with amusement.

"Is that the real color? Do you even know the real color?"

"Honestly, Nathan, you sound as if the color of my hair offends you."

"No. Of course not." He wasn't about to tell her how far from offended he was by the sight of her hair. "It's just...one never knows what's real with you and what is not."

"Well, my hair is red, and I cannot disguise the color of my eyes, so you see me as I am. Except for the jewels, of course." She touched the diamond studs in her ears. "They are as false as my name."

"Verity." Nathan sighed. "You are going to get yourself in trouble. What are you doing?"

"My job."

"Don't tell me you're spying again."

"Don't be daft. I have been hired to find some jewels."

"You're stealing?"

"You would jump to that thought first, wouldn't you? I don't know why you have such a terrible image of me."

"You don't know why!" His voice rose on the words, and two of the guests turned their heads toward him. He lowered his voice, though it lost none of its indignation. "You wormed your way into Lady Lockwood's house by pretending to be a maid—from Yorkshire, no less."

"I don't know what's so terrible about Yorkshire."

"It's not Yorkshire, it's you—with your costumes and accents and pretenses. You pulled all of us into a bizarre scheme to recover some document because, oh, yes, it turns out you're actually a spy."

"I was a spy," she corrected him. "Not anymore."

"No?" He remembered too clearly getting shipped off to Stonecliffe with Verity as part of a plot to keep Annabeth safe. "Then why did I endure a week of escorting you around the garden while you pretended to be Annabeth, all the while criticizing my acting?"

"Well, you must admit you weren't saying anything very lover-like."

"As if some chap up in a tree peering at us through opera glasses could tell what I was saying to you!"

"To be fair, I never claimed there were men in trees with opera glasses. That would be quite silly. A spyglass would be much more practical for the purposes."

Nathan hissed. "Which made the fact that you were pretending to be Annabeth even more unnecessary. Now you pop up in the midst of the ton as a ‘widow from Russia.' And you wonder why I think you're up to something illegal?"

"I'm not from Russia. I never mastered that accent, and I can't speak a word of the language. I've been living in Russia the past few years with Hubert, which was rather foolish of him given, you know, his condition."

"No, I don't know," Nathan responded. "Who in Hades is Hubert? And what was his ‘condition'? I ought to know, seeing as how I was such good friends with him."

"Hubert was my poor departed husband, who died of consumption."

"Consumption? He had consumption and he moved to Russia so he could live in all the ice and snow?"

"I never said Hubert was an intelligent man," Verity replied confidingly. "I married him for his looks. I have a weakness for handsome men, I'm afraid."

"You or Mrs. Billingham? You talk as if you actually are her."

"I need to maintain the role, it helps prevent slips. So if we're through with your questioning..." Verity raised her fan and sent him a laughing look over it.

Those eyes...

"Stop pretending to flirt with me," he snapped.

"Who says I'm pretending? Like Mrs. Billingham, I, too, appreciate a handsome man."

"Verity..."

"You're no fun at all." She sighed. "Very well. I chose Russia because it's so far away that I would be unlikely to run into anyone who had actually been there."

"I don't believe you. I think you made it all up on the spot just to drive me mad."

"While that did provide me some satisfaction, I did not make it up on the spur of the moment. I've been Mrs. Billingham for two weeks."

"Two weeks?" Nathan groaned. "This is getting worse by the moment."

"I don't know why you'd say that." Verity paused at an open doorway to let in a maid carrying a tray of glasses.

"Champagne, ma'am? Sir?" the girl asked.

"Why, yes," Verity said, taking two glasses and handing one to Nathan. Verity took a sip of her drink and glanced around in a seemingly casual way.

Nathan had seen that watchful look in her eyes before and was not fooled by it. "Verity, what are you—"

She gave him a bright smile and slipped out the door.

"Verity!" he hissed. "Wait. Come—oh, the devil." Nathan went through the doorway after her.

They were in a back hallway, its narrowness and lack of decoration indicating that it was for the servants' use only. Verity's champagne glass sat on a table, and she was already halfway down the hall.

"Verity!" Nathan raised his voice a little.

She turned around, her eyebrows going up in surprise, and held her forefinger to her lips in a silencing gesture. "Shh."

"We're out of earshot," he said.

"The walls have ears," she said lightly. "Meaning the servants. You people never consider that—and then you wonder why the servants have all the gossip immediately."

"You people," Nathan muttered. Verity had an unwavering dislike of the ton . But it was pointless to get into that. Instead he set aside his own glass and caught up with her as she continued on her way. "What are you doing? Someone is going to find you out."

"Well, yes, if you keep nattering on." She turned right at an intersecting hall, and they were back in the public area of the house, the corridor laid with carpet and containing portraits of various grim-looking people from an earlier time.

Only a few steps took them to the entry hall. On one side lay the ballroom, which they had just left, and opposite it was a corridor. There were a few people scattered around the entry. Suddenly Verity moved closer, her hand slipping into the crook of Nathan's elbow, and she gazed up at him, plying her fan flirtatiously. She was, he thought, a master at flirting. No doubt it was all those years of living in France.

Nathan felt his heartbeat speed up; it was damned difficult not to react as if that subtle, seductive quirk of her lips was real. Of course, she wasn't wrestling with distraction, she seemed firmly on task, propelling him down the hallway, then turning her head slightly to cast a cautious glance over her shoulder. Her fingers dug into Nathan's arm, and she ducked into the next room, pulling him with her.

"Verity..." he began in exasperation—more at himself for falling so easily into Verity's scheme.

She touched her fingers to his mouth, stopping his speech. She was wearing lace evening gloves, and the texture of the lace felt odd against his lips...and somehow tantalizing. He could feel the heat of her skin beneath the lace. The touch was gone in an instant, and she eased the door shut and started walking around the room, lifting the corners of paintings to look behind them.

"Why are we in Lord Arden's study?"

"Looking for a safe," she replied, as nonchalantly as if she'd said she was looking for a dropped fan. "The study seems the most likely place." She glanced at him. "If you'd help, we'd be done much faster you know."

"Blast it, Verity." Nathan joined her in searching. Irritating as it was to do as she said, Verity was right. The key thing was to get her out of here as soon as possible. He might be able to talk himself out of it if they were caught, but he actually was who he said he was and a well-known member of London Society, whereas Verity was anything but that. "Tell me why I'm risking jail, or at least my reputation."

"Lord Arden has a valuable brooch that belongs to my client." Verity turned away from her fruitless search of the walls and bent to pull up a corner of the rug to peer beneath it.

"Arden stole a piece of jewelry?" Nathan half turned to throw her a skeptical glance.

"No. Well, not exactly. My client gave it to him. It fastened at the top of her frock, and he apparently removed it in the course of, um..."

"Yes, I understand," Nathan said quickly, feeling his cheeks heating. How was it that Verity always managed to make him feel like a green schoolboy? "So Arden pocketed the brooch?"

"Yes—a playful sort of thing, you understand. She was moved that he wanted a sign of her affection, so she gave it to him."

"And now the affair is over, and she wants it back." Nathan lifted the end of the rug closest to him to peek under it.

"She needs it back," Verity replied. She moved to the desk, opening and closing drawers and, when one would not open, she pulled something from her hair and inserted it in the lock, manipulating it until the drawer opened.

Nathan was impressed by her skill. Completely illegal, of course, but he couldn't keep from wondering if she might be willing to teach him how to do it.

As she carefully picked through the drawer, Verity went on, "The brooch is apparently part of a set of jewels that belong to her husband's family, and she is supposed to wear the entire set next week when she sits for a portrait."

"Seems like a foolish thing to give away, then."

Verity flashed him a quick grin. "Yes, doesn't it?" She shrugged. "But they say love makes people foolish."

Nathan made a noncommittal noise in response. He suspected Verity was shooting a barb at him for his long and unrewarding pursuit of Annabeth. There wasn't much he could say to that. It had been a mistake. But at least he'd finally realized it.

"Not, of course, that I would know anything about that," Verity went on. She closed the drawer and, hands on hips, cast an encompassing look around the room. "Well. If there's a safe here, he's disguised it too well for me to find." Her eyes twinkled. "And there's little chance of that."

"Then we're finished. Good." Nathan smoothed down a rumpled corner of the rug with his foot and started toward the door.

"Yes." Verity joined Nathan as he cracked the door a fraction.

He listened for any sounds of people in the corridor outside and, hearing nothing, carefully opened the door. The hallway seemed empty for the moment, and he breathed a little sigh of relief and stepped out, Verity behind him.

Nathan started back toward the party, but Verity grabbed his hand and tugged at him, nodding her head in the other direction. "Take the back stairs. It's less noticeable."

"You're going up to the family's rooms?"

"Of course. The next most likely place for a safe is his bedroom."

"Verity, really..." But Nathan went with her. He told himself that he had to do what he could to keep her from getting into trouble, but the truth was he couldn't deny a tiny thrill of excitement as they sneaked up the servants' stairs.

The corridor on the floor above was empty, and Verity hurried through it, looking into the darkened rooms as she went. Suddenly, there was the sound of voices on the main stairs.

Verity grabbed Nathan's lapels and yanked him to her so hard that they stumbled back against the wall. "Seduce me."